


Remedy

by Goodluckdetective (scorpiontales)



Series: Dust to Dust [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Muteness, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-07-15 06:49:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7212256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpiontales/pseuds/Goodluckdetective
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alistair is not alright after Ostagar. </p><p>The new recruit helps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remedy

There was a hour long period after Ostagar that Alistair thought he might be the last Warden left.

At the time, it felt like  the longest hour of his life.

“She’s lost a lot of blood. Head wounds are tricky things,” the witch told him. They were sitting in the main room of the hut she lived in, her mother off in the other room. Trying to stitch the only other living Warden back together. “Mother thinks she will be able to repair the damage, but these things are never sure. We will have to wait to see if you fellow Warden lives.”

Alistair thought back to Ostagar. To blood dripping down the stairs, to the fellow soldiers screaming. To his fellow Warden, hair out of her usual bun, gritting her teeth through it all as they cut a path. The damage she wrought. The look of surprise on her face when a Ogre threw its fist right into her face.

“Her name is Lira,” Alistair said, digging his fingers into the bench he was sitting on. “Lira Brosca.”

An hour later, the other witch appeared, her fingernails stained with blood. Warden Brosca would survive, she said, with a nasty scar and the occasional headache, but she would survive. Alistair let out of a long inhale, relief settling into his bones. It didn’t last long.

“It looks like you and your friend have a long path ahead of you,” the elder witch said. “An army of Darkspawn with two Wardens won’t be easy to defeat. I pity your circumstances.”

It sunk in at once. Warden Brosca was not dead, but everyone else was. Duncan. His friends. The other wardens. All decimated. There were only two of them left. Himself, six months into his own service, and Brosca, a few days off her joining.

Needless to say, Alistair did not sleep well that night.

The next day, he took to the outdoors, desperate to get away from the two witches who wouldn’t stop talking about world affairs. There was a bench outside near the plants and as he sat down on it, he let out a deep breath. He was alive.

_Everyone else was dead._

He was breathing.

_Everyone else was dead._

The ground under his feet was not tower brick and cobblestone.

_Everyone else had died there._

Alistair covered his mouth with his hand, trying to keep from sobbing. He couldn’t break down. He couldn’t. The witches were still inside; they’d hear him crying. He held back the vocal sobs trying to cry as quietly as possible. He had to keep it together. He had to-

_How was he expected to keep it together?_

He broke, shaking. It was hard to breathe, and he gripped his knees, trying to keep the tremors from getting worse. Memories from the battle flooded his head. Blood. Steel. A dragon’s roar-

There was a knock on the bench. Alistair looked up, wiping at his eyes. Standing there, hand raised over the bench, was Warden Brosca. She was out of her armor, hair down, wearing plain clothing a size too big for her, and she waved at him. Bandages could be seen underneath her bangs. She looked rather pale, but her eyes were alert.

“Warden Brosca,” Alistair hated how his voice shook. “You’re awake.”

Warden Brosca nodded.

His gaze traveled to the bandages. He wondered what the wound would look like when it scarred. He hadn’t gotten a good look at it before; there was far too much blood. “How’s your head?”

Warden Brosca grimaced. Uncomfortable, probably. Alistair had bruises all over his torso and they were aching something terrible. For a wound like hers, it really had to hurt. “Should you go lie down? Maybe try to sleep?”

Warden Brosca shook her head, and Alistair tried to notice the wince of pain on her face from the movement. She pointed to the bench, raising her eyebrow. A question. It took Alistair a few seconds to guess it but when he did, he moved over. Brosca sat down next to him.

She didn’t seem as short sitting down, he thought. At least two feet shorter than him, he often had to crane his neck to look at her face. Sitting down, there was much less discomfort. Given how pale she was at the moment, he could see her tattoos in more detail now. Black ink in geometrical patterns. What had they meant again? Duncan had spoken of dwarven patterns, but Alistair couldn’t remember specifics.

“I like your tattoos.”

Wrong thing to say. Brosca scowled. Alistair held up his hands.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

She waved her hands in front of him, shaking her head. Whatever mistake he made, she wasn’t seeming to hold it personally. She pointed at his chest.

“What?”

She reached to twist her hands then stopped, a frown appearing on her face. Alistair soon realized why; he couldn’t understand what she signed. And without Duncan as a translator, they were without a line of communication. She looked over her shoulder towards the hut.

“No, no, don’t get them to translate right now,” he said. Brosca looked back at him. “I mean, if you really want to say something you can, it’s just- Maker, I sound like an ass.” He ran his hand down his face. His tears hadn’t dried. “I just wouldn’t rather speak to them anymore. It’s…. a lot to take in, and they aren’t helping.”

Brosca didn’t get up for the door, and Alistair tried to hide his relief. They sat in silence for a long moment before Brosca pointed to her forehead, then to his chest, then repeated the motion.

“You want…oh, you want to know if I’m hurt.” Brosca nodded. “I mean, it’ll ache for a few days, but I’ll recover. I’m pretty hardy. Hard to keep down. Grey Warden vitality and all that-”

Brosca started to snicker, and it took Alistair a few minutes to understand why. “I didn’t mean like that!” He couldn’t help but smile. “You have a dirty mind, Warden Brosca.”

Warden Brosca didn’t look repentant in the slightest. She smiled at him, and after a minute it softened. She pointed to Alistair’s shield, which was resting by his feet. The sigil there. The brief moment of good humor vanished.

“We’re the last ones,” Alistair said. “There’s no one else left.” He let out a long sigh, trying to hold back another round of tears. “Maker, how are we supposed to do this?”

There was a long beat of silence. After a moment, Brosca reached down to grab the shield. Held it up so the sunlight hit the crest just right. Alistair felt his eyes welling up again.

“We’re alone.”

Brosca shook her head. She pointed to Alistair. Then to herself. Then back to Alistair. Gave him the shield.

“Alright, perhaps we’re not alone,” Alistair said, running his hand over the crest. “But do you really think we can do this? Just the two of us.”

Brosca looked at him for a long moment. Then she lifted her chin. Nodded once more.

Alistair wasn’t as good at reading people as he would like. But he could understand her message from her expression.

_“We have to try.”_

And with that she reached down, squeezed Alistair’s shoulder, and headed back inside.

Alistair looked at the griffin on the shield and wondered, if just for a moment, he could see it roar.


End file.
